


Building the House

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 10th Century BCE, Angels, Demons, Gen, Solomonic Era, Temple, iron age Israel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 08:29:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Aziraphale is worried about the new king and his building projects.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 64





	Building the House

"I see that you've got the builders in," Crowley said, lounging against a sacred tree. He nodded towards the crews of men who were occasionally hauling things around the place, but were mostly whistling at passing women, or leaning on their shovels whilst shaking their heads sadly at the state of the foundations that they themselves had just dug, or continually stopping for wine breaks and generally showing far too much of their backsides every time they bent over.

"Ah, yes," Aziraphale said, looking at the progress of the work in some concern. Not much work had been done since the work started, as far as he could see. They weren't exactly behind schedule, but they certainly weren't trying to keep ahead of it either, despite what everyone said about Phoenician cleverness. It was terribly worrying; it just seemed another indication of how inexperienced the new king was. Solomon was really trying to do too much at once. "They're experts. Top-notch Phoenician architects, masons, bricklayers and so on. They're meant to be really very good." He gave Crowley a hard look. "Have you been at work on them?"

Crowley held up both hands, his face the very picture of innocence. Aziraphale nearly smote him on sheer reflex. He took a deep breath. There were times – few and far between, true – when Crowley really was innocent of the mischief that seemed to follow him around. Perhaps he really wasn't interfering in Solomon's building plans.

"Do you promise?" he said.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Just take my word for it, would you? What would I gain from messing this up?"

"From messing up the building of a royal temple for the Lord? Oh, I don't know – a commendation?"

"Ehh, maybe," Crowley shrugged. "It's just one temple. Dagon's got a fairly new one in Gath. Although maybe rebuilds go faster than new builds - I could ask for the name of his contractor for you? No? And Beelzebub's got a snazzy temple in Ekron. Moloch's got shrines all over. What's one temple more?" He sniggered as the workmen briefly threw off their sloth as an overseer walked past, quickly dug some more of the foundations, then stood around shaking their heads sadly, peering down. "Do you think Solomon's paying them by the hour?"

"I just can't watch," Aziraphale said, wondering if a strategically placed bolt of lightning or ten would get them moving any faster. He could almost feel himself aging whilst waiting for something to happen, and didn't like the sensation one little bit. "Take me away and get me drunk."

"Distracting the enemy agent and befuddling his senses," Crowley said happily. "Yes, I think I can manage that."

They spent several weeks drinking every town in the vicinity of Jerusalem dry. When they returned the building sites still looked like, well, building sites. Aziraphale was cheered to see that the foundations were completely dug for both the palace and the temple, and a lot of large, rough-hewn stone blocks had been delivered.

"Right," the chief architect yelled to the assembled workers. "That's enough time spent scratching our arses. The quarries have started producing good stone, so we've actually got something to work with now. Let's show these backward goat-farmers what we're here to do."

"Excuse _me,_" Aziraphale said frostily. "That's not a very polite way to refer to your employer."

"Look, mister," the architect said. "My employer is the King of Tyre. _He's_ the one paying me for this attempt to bring your country into the modern world."

"I love modern architecture," Crowley said, draping himself over Aziraphale's shoulder. "What's the end vision here? Enormous weightless domes? Delicate gothic arches? An eclectic mix of the old Doric-Ionic-Corinthian pillars all over the shop? A _vast_ and _soaring_ edifice of steel and _glass_ rising up to dominate - "

"I'm so sorry, he's still very, very drunk," Aziraphale said as new architectural ideas exploded wholesale in the man's head.

"Just sort of a stone box, really," the architect said, dazed, and went off fervently muttering something about soaring glass domes.

"Why must you always give people _ideas?_" Aziraphale said. "What will future generations think if that fellow goes off and builds Notre Dame de Tyre?"

"That the worshippers of Asherah were really advanced for the Iron Age? Come on, Aziraphale, you know they can't retain knowledge all that well. You should have seen how long it took _Mmmm, apples are yummy_ to sink in."

Aziraphale turned on his heel and walked off. After a moment he stalked back, just so he could shake a finger admonishingly at Crowley, who did a very good job of looking like he wasn't about to laugh.

"Don't you ever get tired of being a professional troublemaker?"

"No? You should calm down, angel -"

Aziraphale made a noise like a mildly irritated chicken, as being told to calm down has much the same effect on angels as it does on all other species of beings.

" – no, seriously, _look_."

Aziraphale pressed the back of his fingers to his mouth as he saw the workmen moving things along at a rate he wouldn't have believed possible. He supposed that time might have rather got away from him and Crowley; it did sometimes when they argued. Course after course of stone, now perfectly smooth-faced, had been laid for both buildings, and the first course of cedar was down too. The sound of chisels on stone rang out as masons turned yet more immense rough hewn blocks into the smooth finished building material, and the men were singing a jaunty work song to keep morale up as the next course of stone began to be lifted into place.

"Do you think Baal Melqart's dick really is sixty cubits long or is that just poetic licence?" Crowley said. 

"I _think_ it's not very suitable to be singing in praise of his, um, bits while they're building for the Lord," Aziraphale said. "And for the king of Israel, of course."

"Didn't you hear?" Crowley said. "They're working for the king of _Tyre_." He sloped off towards the nearest overseer and had a few words with him, then came back. "No more songs about Melqart," he said, giving the overseer a thumbs-up. Behind him, a song about the exact degree of bounce to Asherah's tits began. Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We'd have to go at least as far as Bethlehem before we found anything remotely drinkable, wouldn't we?" he said plaintively.

"Are you kidding? That's the first town we hit. You're talking Hebron at a minimum, Shiloh if we go north." Crowley put a consolatory hand on his shoulder. "You'll have to face the rest of this sober." He did quite a good job of not laughing at Aziraphale's groan of despair.

"You have no idea! I've seen the blueprints! Honestly, Crowley, he's made the palace _much_ nicer than the temple, does that seem right? Sometimes I think he switched the plans around."

"Pfft, switching things around, what old hat," Crowley said. "Everyone sees through that trick in less than a minute. Though I suppose it helps that both of the blueprints would have been labeled the same thing; there is such a thing as a language being too bloody concise." The innocent expression doubled in intensity. "Do you think the temple was supposed to have a harem? For Asherah and Astarte and Anat and –"

"_No!_" Aziraphale said in what he considered to be a perfectly reasonable tone of voice.

Workmen all over the building sites turned to stare.

"Well, then," Crowley said cheerfully. "The plan with the harem probably _is_ the palace. Solomon's got to put the seven hundred porcupines somewhere."

"Concubines."

"I bet their presence makes his wives prickly."

Aziraphale shook his head sadly. "I don't know why you insist that _comedy_ will ever be a thing, Crowley. It's all just nonsense and childish wordplay." He ignored the annoying grin on Crowley's face. "Maybe you're right – about him not swapping the plans, not about concubine storage – I'm just a bit out of sorts. I mean, he seems to have a lot of potential, but he's not exactly a second David, is he?"

"That sounds like the sort of thing that would get you hung off the walls with a spike through your ankles," Crowley said. "So he's not a sword-swinging, lyre-plucking, king's-son-loving military hero, but –"

"David married Saul's _daughter_," Aziraphale interjected.

Crowley just looked at him.

"Oh, all right, he should have married Jonathan. I miss those days, you know? Things were simpler back then in a lot of ways. Solomon likes things to be complicated - he loves scientific theories, you know. And really difficult maths."

"That's one of ours," Crowley said proudly. "Scratch a mathematician, smell sulphur."

"Don't I know it. _David_ solved problems by hitting them with a sword, his son wants to reason them out at scientific conferences _and_ get into the field of international diplomacy. Things could go horribly wrong, Crowley!"

He sighed as Crowley shrugged. Things going horribly wrong was his counterpart's job description, after all. The temple and palace were out of both their hands, he decided, and that was probably for the best. Solomon _had_ been properly awe-struck when Aziraphale had passed on the instructions to build it, even if he had rather cheated – in at least the opinion of the angel who'd given him the blasted instruction, but who cared about poor old _Aziraphale's_ views? No one, apparently. Goodness, no. Put an agent in the field and then just bally well ignore – Aziraphale took a calming breath. Maybe no one else thought that Solomon had cheated by calling in workers from a neighbouring kingdom. Maybe the neighbouring king wouldn't think _he'd_ been cheated when he saw the rubbish land Solomon was planning on giving him in payment. It would really be a lot easier to guide humans if they would just stop insisting on acting so blasted . . . human now and then. Oh. Crowley was saying something.

"Are you all right?" Crowley repeated. "You've sort of got a vein throbbing in your –" He vaguely indicated Aziraphale's entire person.

"New kings are always tough," Aziraphale said wanly. "Let's go and look at the progress on the furnishings."

The palace furnishings were piled in storage rooms, cedar furniture covered in gold and smelling strongly of the fragrant wood. Engraved golden and ivory plaques were stacked, ready to be fixed to walls and cabinets. It was all very luxurious. It was while they were examining the furnishings for the temple that Crowley stiffened and gave Aziraphale a very odd look.

"These curtains are, er -" he said.

"The dyes were extremely expensive," Aziraphale said. "So much purple and crimson! And that blue, let me tell you, the weavers nearly cried with joy at such a clear dye."

"And the gold thread design too," Crowley said, deadpan. "Very nice."

"Um," Aziraphale said.

"Very accurate."

"Um."

"The face is strangely familiar. I keep asking myself, _Hang on, do I know that cherub?_ Gosh, I wonder who can have helped out with the design work, because that really is very true to life."

"Um."

"Heh. What else is going in? Come on, it's not like I'll be able to take a look once it's installed."

Aziraphale felt a great dread. The curtains had been embarrassing enough. He helpfully drew Crowley's attention to skillfully worked fruit in wood and ivory, and cedar panels carved with palm trees and all kinds of open flowers, ready for gilding. With any luck he wouldn't want to see more.

"This is pretty good," Crowley said. "I really should report back on it, you know." He looked silently at Aziraphale for a moment. "I probably won't. You can owe me dinner."

Aziraphale felt himself relax enough to ignore the great dread and to walk on further. Crowley was an odd sort of fellow for a demon; very pleasant company. He was almost - all right, really. 

They turned the corner, and Crowley revealed himself as the disgraceful scion of Hell that he was, doubling over and howling with laughter.

"It's extremely skilled craftsmanship," Aziraphale said.

Crowley wiped his eyes, took another look and began to weep with laughter again.

"What I like – really like about – about you," he gasped, "Is, is your modesty, angel."

"I just wanted them to look _right_," Aziraphale said in a loud whisper.

"They've really caught that little thing you do when you're thinking about what's for dinner," Crowley said, staring up.

"I don't do anything! What do you mean?"

Aziraphale stared up. He supposed the faces did look slightly inquisitive, in a hungryish way. Maybe it was more obvious on the face of a fifteen foot tall cherub statue.

"Did you actually model for them?"

"No, of course not! I just, er, gave a teensy suggestion. Their original ideas were _terrible_, forget being asked to design a cherub, you'd think they had never seen _any_ living creature before."

"Huh. So these are going in? At the entrance?"

"Into the innermost room," Aziraphale said quietly. "The wings still have to be added – they'll touch each other's outstretched wings." 

He put a hand on one massive forelimb, enjoying the smooth grain of the polished wood. He could feel the joy the artists had taken in their work, their love for the wood and their craft, how honoured they had felt to be chosen. The artists had worried at first, but they had got on with things, and he liked to think he had been of some help. He sighed. The carvings were very well done, very subtle, and they were to be covered up. The end result would be magnificent, of course, but no one would see the true skill the wood carvers had put into their work. Except the One they were made for, of course, but Aziraphale wasn't really sure about the current stance on art appreciation. When he looked back Crowley was looking intently at him, not the statues.

"It's beautiful wood," Crowley said, in a way that meant he was sorry to have laughed quite so much.

"Olive. Gold leaf is going over these as well. I think it's a pity; look how lovely the grain is – the wood almost has a glow. I have to say, Solomon's rather addicted to gilding things."

"The dynasty'll grow out of it. Maybe. Come on, stop worrying – two nice new palaces are being built on this hill, one for Solomon and one for –" Crowley pointed Up. He looked hopeful, as if he could talk Aziraphale out of the worry he'd been in for weeks. "They are being built, Aziraphale, you don't have to fret that they're not. But _Solomon's_ doesn't have statues of you in it. Or curtains with you on them. So the Neighbour wins. Solomon _isn't_ trying to usurp the better living quarters, and he'll settle down and stop with the outrageous scientific theories sooner or later. Everything's all right. You can relax."

"They're not really statues of me, they're just -" Aziraphale said, feeling both that he needed to clarify matters and glad that there was someone who wanted him to feel better.

"Coincidental cherubim," Crowley said. "It can be the name of your band."

"You're trying out that comedy thing again," Aziraphale said, and gamely laughed, although he had no idea what Crowley was on about. But the demon was clearly trying to cheer him up, which he did appreciate. It was a decent gesture from a fellow field agent, even if the fellow came from a different field.

The temple _would_ be fine. The builders were skilled, and what did it matter that Solomon had outsourced the project? And the king would get better at dealing with other monarchs as he gained experience. Everything would be all right. He'd done what he could to help and now he should just let them get on with things. 

"You ever hear of a place called Sheba?" Crowley said as they wandered down from the building sites. "I've been there a couple of times - the whole country is full of precious stones, gold and sweet spices, plus more exotic animals than I frankly remember fitting on the ark. Great food. You should go. We both should. It's ruled by warrior queens." 

"You tell such tall tales." 

"Yeah? I bet I can get the current queen to pay Solomon a visit – I'll think of something you can wager. She'll bring spices, gold, leopards, elephants, random weird animals that live up on mountains -" 

Aziraphale snorted in the beginnings of amusement. "Really? I'll believe it when I see it." 

"You are _on_. Let's get that dinner you owe me." 

They headed down the road for Hebron, as the town likely to have the nearest tavern with drinkable wine, Crowley now suggesting a ridiculous plan about them disguising themselves and asking Solomon tricky ethical questions. Aziraphale found himself laughing at the idea. It felt much better than worrying, he decided. 

Behind them, the construction of the house of the Lord and the house of the king continued apace, the ring of tools on stone and ribald work songs rising up towards heaven. 


End file.
